Purgatory
by Quazi Joe
Summary: Survival is no longer enough. Retribution and justice are called for. Harry's Journey is no longer about reacting and defending. Now is the time to win. Sequel to Blood Tipped Feather 2/3. Post OotP storyline
1. Chapter 1

**Purgatory**

_Sequel to Blood tipped Feather_

They were in wait, he could smell them. No not they… Her.

Harry grasped at his side by his knee, it was there.

A noise, like the swishing of air, then a thump and then a mist of white. It had already begun, Combat was ensured, but now Harry was on the defensive.

'Aren't I always?' Harry smiled sardonically to himself.

Ducking as he saw another projectile arc overhead, Harry skidded low and tumbled his way behind the Bench. A sudden pounding of feet, crunching dead leaves and thick snow alarmed Harry to the presence rounding the corner. Grabbing his only offensive weapon, Harry pulled back ready to let them have it.

A dripping red blur skidded round the corner and ducked low as another white blur missed him by inches. Turning his head away from the air where he had watched the sphere, His ally came face to face to Harry and his armament.

Raising his arms in supplication,

"Whoa there…" with eyes alight in alarm almost experiencing friendly fire first hand. Harry halted his arm, lowering it once he came face to face with Ron.

"She's just behind the tire, over beside the light." Ron continued, ignoring the cold damnation Harry almost bestowed upon Ron, face first. "She's armed to the teeth."

Taking a peek over the Bench and quickly ducking, Harry surmised that they were pinned. She may have been one but she was the opponent, it gave her an unfair advantage. The opponent always has the Advantage.

"We'll have to make a run for it…"  
"We'll get hit mate."

Looking over at Ron with a Bright smile, Ron looked back before a smirk graced his lips. "Got your back."

Together they gathered their ammunition and Charged.

A white blur greeted Harry before his vision went dark and he fell over quickly slipping in the icy patch below. A grunt and thud to his right and Harry could tell Ron had been hit as well.

"You're dead!" A pleased female voice cheered a few meters ahead.

"Nu uh, I just slipped." Ron cried back as he tried to run but forgetting he was still on his back could only manage a slipping motion as he tried to get up.

A bundle of brown hair emerged behind the tire fort. "What? No. I hit you, you're dead." Hermione cried in outrage. A snowball cocked in her awaiting arm.

"No you hit my sca… aaRRrff" Ron contested as he tried to right himself, Almost doing the splits as he regained footing.

All the while, Harry spat at the ground, a leaf that had been in the snow ball had worked its way into his mouth, and everything tasted like muck now.

"Harry, tell him. You're out, I hit you both in the Face." Hermione pleaded for reason, as she charged me with her arm still loaded.

Reaching out gently, Harry Lowered her arm gently as he was afraid she might accidentally smite him in her vigour.

"Thanks for that by the way," Harry remarked sarcastically as he spat another mud flavoured spit at the ground." Hermione cringed at his liquid projectile, by sheer reflex.

"She got us Ron," Harry Admitted.

"Well you didn't have to tell her that" Ron cried in protest, exasperated with his thick friend, throwing his hands in the air in frustrated expression.

Harry smiled at his friends antics.

Then suddenly they were back behind the bench again and fluffy snow was whizzing above their heads again.

"Ok this time, you go out first, and then when she gets you, I'll hit her in the face." Ron instructed.

"Bait!" Harry whispered in outrage.

"Well you clearly suck at strategy" Ron stared at Harry sarcastically.

Neither of them commented on the instant reversal of time, or the fact that Ron was changing the course of events. It just didn't matter. Here was a chance to get it right. And really the stakes were simple and pointless; a game between friends. The Threat was only their prides.

"I officially oppose this plan," Harry cried as he ran out from behind the bench, ducking quickly and slipping into the parks snow for cover as fluffy death missed him by inches.

Continuing his Zigzag, Harry Ran to the play fort for cover as Hermione Pelted more balls at Harry. Only a few of the snowballs actually graced her hands, the Rest simply just flying from her location. That didn't matter either. They still felt like a cold suffocating balls of snow and that's all that mattered in the moment.

No one commented that the world around them, surrounded by shadowed buildings, and empty streets, was all empty.

No one wondered why the only light in the world came from the single lamp post at the centre of this playground.

No one questioned the fact that the Sky was just absent.

It didn't matter.

It was peaceful, and quiet, and nice. The three friends, together again. Fighting the good fight in the only way they knew how… With lobs of snow.

No one ever got hurt by snow in this world. There was no one else in this world to get hurt, and hurting just didn't happen. Such a thing was pointless anyway, when you could just do things right.

The three friends demonstrated this act hundreds of times unquestioningly as they rewrote time over and over, trying to one up one another.

Sometimes it was Ron and Harry against Hermione, sometimes Hermione and Harry against Ron, sometimes it was the three of them against a nameless unseen foe, but they were together. And after each loss, they would just go again. No time to contemplate the loss, just the need to make right what was wrong and to continue on.

Harry didn't have any comprehension of how long he had been fighting, but every battle felt like his first. Wanting to make sure they were still there, Harry looked beyond the light. At the very edge of the light's warmth stood two motes of lights. Stood was subjective, but Harry could tell they were standing - in fact one was leaning against the other. He could tell they were smiling at him.

Below them circled a playful mote, bouncing around the light's perimeter excitedly. Sometimes Harry could tell it wanted to get in but it stayed outside the field of light, just slightly in the shadows.

They were still there, waiting for him. They were not impatient and Harry could tell they wanted him to stay, to get it right on his own terms. When he was ready he could join them, but not yet. He needed to win, just once. They understood and they wanted to wait; they were not put out, or upset. They were overjoyed that Harry was having such fun.

Harry could tell his time was coming, he would win soon.

A Shiver ran up Harry's spine though. That wasn't meant to happen. But it kept happening. Beyond Harry's vision, opposite his family, stood a lone figure in shadow.

They shifted and curled around the figure, hugging its lopsided frame completely but sparsely. Every now and then a patch of shadow would thin and Harry could make out a piece of the figure.

Harry hated when the shivers happened. He never wanted to but he had to look. The world would dim, and his friends would disappear. The only way to get them back was to look. To glimpse a new piece of the hidden man in the shadows.

Harry dreaded looking. He just wanted to carry on, he just wanted to win, he just wanted to cross the field of light and rest with his family.

It had been a long night. So long, that Harry had forgotten that there were meant to be days. But with the sight of the shadowed man Harry knew he would remember.

He would remember what reality was supposed to be like. And it would be harder to get back into the game.

There was a thumping noise in the background.

Thump.

Thump.

The deepness of a drum, but with a muffled silence that indicated it hid layers of complexity.

The world throbbed with the Thumps as Harry slowly turned to look

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Closing his eyes slowly in preparation, Harry continued to look at the figure. Even with his eyes shut he could see.

Thump.

Thump.

THUMP!

He knew that it was ridiculous, seeing through his own eyelids, he could remember the need to conform to the rules of the world. He could grasp at his mind's eye why being able to just redo the past battles over and over would not be possible, and how it simply could not happen.

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

He had to look, properly look, even though he could see through his closed eyelids. He had to willingly _see_ to get it over with.

THUMP!

Harry opened his eyes to the world.

In front of him stood the man, he was a man, lopsided because of the mutilation that had been done to him… by him?

Tall, and imposing, he stood in front of Harry, the world gone white and throbbing with the THUMPS.

They were building up to a crescendo of beats, he could feel the world around him get louder and more vibrant.

The noises were memories.

All of them. All the memories he tried to ignore, all the things he tried to forget, the days of pain and joy, the suffering and wonder. He had to forget, it was maddening.

THUMP!

The noise became a screech in his chest, and he looked at the man.

A Patch of shadows thinned like vapour around his head. A single hole looked out at Harry.

A single Snake Eye.

Harry kneeled on the ground in suffering, all of it coming back to him, his body aching and leaking. The sounds of the cave, excruciating heat, and the punctures into his person came to him all at once.

But then the moment he kept trying to ignore, the reason he kept forgetting.

Everything stopped: the noise, the THUMPS, the blinding light, as Harry made out one single thing in the void that he existed in.

A knife that lay buried in a prone figure. The silence that emanated from the wound was staggering.

He could feel the Ache in his chest, partly a memory, partly a fact - as if he were stabbed himself. The Black figure stood beyond the body with its arm outstretched as it always did.

It waited for Harry to choose it.

Harry Ran Instead.

After what felt like forever and an instant all at once, the world righted itself. Everything re-emerged and the world was a winter wonderland again.

Harry fell to his knees, waiting for the memories to vanish. He wanted to lose without cost, he wanted to live in a dream. He wanted to forget again, he wanted to win again. Just once.

The snow started to fall once more, and a warm light spread over him. He was at its outskirts just within its range. On the other side stood the motes of light. Harry Patted the whimpering mote in front of him, as it sensed his pain.

Harry scratched at it as he perceived it again.

The figures supported each other in worry, lending their support as they continued to wait on the other side.

Slowly the memories faded with each snowflake, until Harry was left blank and empty again.

Except for one change.

"Come on Harry, It's you, me and Ron against the world." Hermione cheered at Harry's side. Tugging at his left and Ron grabbing Harry's right, they guided him to the Bench where they continued to rebuild the snowballs.

Harry tried to get into it but it wouldn't stop. This wasn't right. It remained. And with it, he was trapped aware.

Thump!

* * *

Betaed by:Devgil


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2- A prelude to choice**

* * *

It was cold. That was what Harry noticed first about his entrapment. Before, he had known it was cold, but he had never experienced it.

Ever since the Thumps remained.

Ron and Hermione goaded him on, challenging him to succeed, but they had become nuisances because they were false. They didn't want to talk about anything more than snow balls, and winning. Harry had tried to play along, but the saying was true; ignorance _was_ bliss.

They themselves felt like frustrating creations following an incomplete script, unable to deviate from their preprogrammed path of battle. Harry wasn't sure how but he was able to banish them from this not playground. All the while he had to deal with the unforgotten memories; this glitch in reality had such strict rules. And they were crumbling around him.

Now Harry was alone, stuck between choices.

Harry sullenly paced back and forth now around the periphery of the light. He both knew what it was and didn't.

He knew if he stepped across its barrier this fairytale would end, but he both wished for it and dreaded it. He knew it was a commitment of choice, and once he went down this path, he could no longer go back.

If he stayed, he could remain indecisive, waiting, clinging to a potentially better option.

THUMP

Harry knew what that was now too.

He was existing between them, and with every crescendo he was forced to relive his suffering.

The problem was he already remembered them, but these thumps were forcing him to linger on the more disturbing events of his life.

THUMP

He watched her fly, her tattered skirt once beautiful stained red and brown as she soared through the air.

Then pale strands of hair whipped forward as her body encountered resistance. The surprised shock, and then the flicker of pain before Harry was forced to turn away.

In the heat of the moment, Harry never noticed her tears or her whimpers. Harry wondered what fresh hell he was in.

There never was a beat during these moments… Just a wash of memories Harry never wanted to see.

But see he had to, because closing his eyes did nothing to impede their imperialistic march to his soul. The visions of Luna Lovegood as she lay motionless beneath him lingered on in his memory.

Harry understood now why he chose to forget each time before, and wished he still could. Every Thump of his heart that was not resonated by hers hurt.

He could feel his Chest explode in fury at the silence it experienced. All he could do was turn his hate toward the tall clouded figure.

"WHY!" Harry yelled. With all the force of his emotions, he pummeled the clouded snake eyed man with his words. The shadows expanded in defense and rebuke, and Harry found satisfaction in his words forcing the shadows to work so hard.

The man never said anything but Harry knew why.

The silence the man emanated was like a wasp's nest of activity. The void of words buzzed around him delivering sorrow and regrets Harry did not want to face. His oldest enemy stared on in silence beyond his reach.

Harry purposefully took a step back as every time he confronted this monster of his making, he was distanced from the motes and their calming influence.

The trek back to them and their chance of freedom from this hell would be harder for him to get to. And the single light that emanated in this world dimmed.

His time was running out. The choice would be made for him soon.

But why now…

Harry had been living in this dream for what felt like eternity, playing these pointless games hundreds if not thousands of times. Only now could the Thumps of his dying heartbeat be heard, only now could he process the memories of his past.

"Why now…" Harry tentatively asked his reality.

Harry had not expected a reply, but he received one.

YOU NEED TO KNOW

The voice was as cold as the snow and as bitter as the pain he felt. It thundered around him and through him, but it also whispered seductively in his soul.

Harry didn't need any more words to understand its meaning. The shadow man could only mean one thing.

Harry stared back at the man knowing what was in wait.

The shadow man was still there, but its arm was outstretched, still covered in darknes. Harry could see the shrouded mitt of shadows that was his hand.

The wisps curled around the man's paw and Harry could sense the hand turning over, palm side up.

Here was his third option. The one he was waiting for, but had dreaded.

Give up on life and move on, stay and stagnate in suffering, or the final choice… discover the truth and fight to live.

But Harry knew this choice came with consequences, something had gone very wrong, to him, to his being. He did not feel whole anymore, he did not feel, complete. If he committed, he did not know what would happen to him.

But he would know. If he had succeeded. He would know if she ...

Harry looked back at the motes, and their ethereal visage. They were no longer there, he had made his choice and they had vanished as a result.

Harry wanted at least one last moment with them, whether they were real or not. Just to take in their comfort and warmth.

But Harry could no longer bury his head and bide his time. It was time for action. It was time to face the consequences of his choices.

Harry walked forward through the bitter cold as it swept snow across his vision. The light dimmed and the thumps became the world around him.

As he approached the shadow man he could see the shadows melt away from his hands, and he despised every second of what emerged.

With each footstep new pieces of flesh were revealed to him as shadows melted and congealed away, as if Harry emitted his own gust of wind.

First a calloused hand, dirty uncut fingernails, caked with blood and dirt.

A forearm extended away pale and gaunt, dusted with fine black hair.

Harry was but one step away and reached out his hand knowing what he would see next.

Reaching out with his own left hand, Harry grasped the upturned wrist. An explosion of shadows melted away from the man in front of him as he was revealed in all his humble glory.

The tattered clothing, the dirty feet, the Snake Eyes of emerald green and the blood red scar above his eye line.

Harry stared at his injured form as the shadows violently clung to his counterpart's back.

They pulsed once and formed into his telltale wings of old.

Slowly and with sympathy, his counterpart lowered their joined wrists and tilted them so they were now shaking hands.

The void was black and the light was gone, but Harry could feel more than see 'himself' encircle them in his wings as they embraced one last time.

Whatever this experience was, Harry did not know, or did not care, all he knew was he would discover the truth.

He would know if he had saved Luna Lovegood.

Or be damned trying.

* * *

AN:

Hey guys, just so you all know, these are my short chapters, starting with the third, I get into my real story.

Things kind of pick up in the next chapter. This is in some ways a completely different story than blood tipped, but it explores most if not all of the plot points I had 'ignored' in the first story.

I'll try to get the next chapter up the coming weekend, but no promises.

Thanks for the review and feedback.

Quazi

Thanks go out to Devgil for offering to Beta.

Beta Note:

And thanks to Quazi for accepting my offer. It's an honour.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Inch deep oceans

Panic

Harry opened his eye to the cold shock of impact. A muffled scream emanated out of his mouth, muffled by the torrents of ice cold water that brushed against his body. Opening his eyes, Harry stared down into a black abyss of cloudy nothing. Scrambling, he fumbled with his limbs trying to find refuge from the suffocating murky water.

Glancing at his wrists, Harry noticed a metal chain wrapped loosely, a fine thin braided silver wire. Noticing the droop of the weighted metal, Harry surmised the downward direction and kicked franticly to push himself upward.

Harry had no light to guide him but he was sure up was ahead of him. He knew he had to be resolute and push forward despite his confusion and doubts. His body ached as he pushed against the water, he wasn't sure if from the exercise, or injuries unknown but he had to push through, he had to find…

Hwuuhhh!

The noise of Harry's Gasp for Air echoed around him. Half stale musty odors, half sea water, Harry's first intake was unrefined at best; Harry sputtered as he hyperventilated for breath in utter darkness.

Harry kicked and paddled for survival as he tried to quell his bodies urge for air. But Harry knew that he was in a futile battle, he was too weak. It didn't help that Harry could feel himself sinking back into the water, it was pulling him in. In his weekend condition, he couldn't paddle to stay afloat for long; he needed to get out, he needed to find land in this lightless void.

Harry instinctively tried to mine a Lumos above himself, a few feet at least.

A shock of pain lanced through his chest immediately.

The intensity caused Harry to lose focus for a second as he grasped at his chest and sank. Harry wasn't sure if he was having a heart attack, or if something was about to explode from his torso, but Harry knew one thing, breathing was better than drowning.

Harry pushed through the pain and kicked for all he was worth. He had sunk a few feet into the water, and the force was stronger the deeper he fell.

Opening his eyes briefly against the chill water, Harry saw a spark of light in the murkiness. It was his Lumos. Guiding him upward, Harry fought to the top against the raging waters.

Finally, making it up a second time, Harry Gasped his air more carefully, as he looked upward.

There was his Lumos; small, a pin prick in the darkness, but brilliant and dazzling. It shone like a fiery sun in the obscurity and Harry could almost feel the warmth from it. An illusion that comforted him in the bone chilling depths of what Harry now knew was a …

…Whirlpool.

A large swirl, Harry believed it was as grand as a galaxy, but was more than likely the size of a baseball diamond. And Harry was slowly drifting from its edges into its powerful reach. Harry wasn't sure what actually happened to a person who got stuck in such a funnel, but he was sure it was unpleasant. Kicking for all his worth, Harry fought the whirlpool and aimed away. He paddled with more precision and grace, his mind clearer, and he spotted a rocky out cropping. Not a beach or a sanctuary, but something solid he could grab on to.

Kicking for all he was worth, Harry slowly fought his way forward. His slow acceleration burning at his chest, arms and legs, but kick on he had to.

Inches away, Harry kicked with as much as he had and more, landing at the shores of his salvation. It was no swimming pool wall, but there was enough erosion to create a noticeable ledge for Harry to firmly grasp.

The muddy gravel provided its own shock to Harry senses as he groped at its dark surface, but Harry found his grip and tried to lift himself up. Feeling like he weighed 200 pounds more, he pulled himself high enough to belly flop onto the gravel like surface. Knowing he had only a little further to go before he could rest, Harry shimmied his way on to the ledge, grunting as he slid. Harry struggled though as he tried to force his legs up. His foot was caught on something.

Staring back, Harry noticed a strap. It was wrapped around his leg like a pair of makeshift chains.

Groaning as he tried to reach for the strap Harry managed to grasp at his ankles. The strap had a sliding grip to it; the laces of his shoes were caught in the sinewy mess.

'… Sneakers? '

'These aren't mine.'

Attached to the grip of the bag with duct tape was a pair of black frames.

'Glasses.'

They weren't his either, but Harry only now realized how blind he really was. Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry Pulled his leg close and worked to free the strap. The strap was torn from whatever it had been connected to, but the red straps were clearly those of a gym bag or backpack design.

Peeling and tearing at the duct tape Harry managed to free the glasses and tentatively put them on. Surprisingly the prescription matched and he could see.

Harry was in a massive cavern, the ceiling so high that his Lumos could not extend its light that far up.

The whirlpool was being fed by a split waterfall; the current pooled and circled the perimeter of the cave as it worked its way to the main underground lake. Harry could not see to the bottom of the lake but by the size of the whirlpool alone, Harry was sure it was unreasonably deep.

About a dozen or so feet from where Harry lay, another outcropping of land lay. This was more of a jagged spike that served only to disrupt the waters as it caused mini vortices as it jutted into the whirlpools reach. The waters behind the earthy protrusion were calmer but lead off into a dark cave system. Squinting and wiping at his wet frames Harry noticed the glint of steal. There was wreckage at its edge. Harry was sure he could skirt the ledge to the second outcropping but first he needed to take stock.

Inspecting himself as he wheezed slowly, sure he had swallowed a good portion of salt water, he noticed his attire.

His clothes were, Jeans. Damp now but relatively well made. He was wearing what appeared to be a long-sleeved black shirt, and underneath appeared to be a white Tee.

His shoes, while not necessarily the epitome of style were made for activity and the outdoors, if the ridges meant anything. The laces seemed frayed, and the plastic nub at the end seemed to be missing but otherwise they were a fine pair.

Looking at his hands, Harry noticed they seemed slightly gaunt, they felt weaker than normal. Flexing them slowly, Harry could notice the sluggish atrophy.

Grasping at his left sleeve he tugged the water logged black cuff back to his elbow.

His arm was thinner than before, frailer. Around his wrist wrapped a silver chain, fine jewelers metal, a good two and a half feet tied in a knot to his wrist. One end link had a noticeable bend in it indicating the chain had given way.

Pulling at his other arm, Harry noticed a significant difference. His cursed arm, the one that had been punctured, by basilisk fangs, pews, and had been deboned once, now sported what Harry could only describe as a mutilated scar.

It was not in the shape of any symbol, and seemed to be a jagged overgrowth of flesh. Harry had seen scars like these on burn victims before.

Flashes of memory returned to him.

His Arm, It had been flayed open, a medieval IV had been hooked directly into his vein, bypassing his external flesh in preference of direct line of sight to his exposed blood vessels. Memories of a confident, well groomed, snaked eyed man taunted his visions as he recalled past horrors.

Harry looking now at the scar, he could see it bore some resemblance to the flayed flesh, but haphazardly. Moody's scars bore some strong similarities to his, though moody was practically a walking callous whereas Harry felt he was more of a buffet of identifying marks, interspersed by blah. It didn't hurt, though Harry was hesitant to call it healed. Sensing no unusual pain emanating from that arm, Harry started to prod and trace his body.

The same gaunt frame seemed to permeate throughout his figure, but otherwise he was intact. He felt, thin, the kind of thin Mrs. Weasley or Dobby might have nightmares over. Patting at his pockets Harry found some cash, a few pounds, and what appeared to be American currency, some galleons and what Harry recognized as coins of various denominations. In his Back pocket, he found a wallet, empty save for a blank business card with what looked to be a d-pad embossed into it. Like the ones he had seen on Dudley's game controllers.

Finding nothing else, Harry checked himself once more before observing his surroundings.

'How did I get here?'

This didn't look like any of the caves he had been in in the past. A sobering thought to realize he could use that sentence literally, but true none the less. The material of this cave had clay like texture to it, a distinct arid mildew odor, and the rock formations were utterly foreign to him.

Harry supposed he might be in a different part of the _last_ cave system, but it didn't feel right. Harry knew he had gotten out of _that_ cave. He had escaped, how he wasn't sure, but he had left. Trying not to dwell too much on past memories and their emotions, Harry looked around the darkened earthy formation.

There was a glint hanging midair, small, but reflective.

His Lumos was hitting something. It hung above the vortex of water but Harry was sure, if he could make it to the wreckage he could get a better view of it.

Resigning himself to standing, Harry took in how weak he really felt. The sore aches reminded him of his training sessions with Sir. His everything burned in protest, but he was nowhere near safe, so Harry fought back the pain. Clinging to the wall, Harry slowly made it across the ledge to the second outcrop of dirt.

Immediately feeling relieved once he had more land to the step on, not as claustrophobic as before. Stumbling through the clay, Harry felt the squelches, as he stepped into and then out of reach with each soggy step.

Harry Found his way to the wreckage and was puzzled by what appeared to be shredded steal. The rusted heap was bent and shorn at odd angles, clearly segmented as Harry could make out panels and axels.

If Harry didn't know any better, Harry would have thought these were the remains of the Hogwarts express.

What remained on land appeared to be train parts, but the remains seemed to have sunk into the whirlpool long ago.

Looking up, Harry was surprised to see a fine jagged line split the Cave in two.

Blinking his eyes, Harry squinted.

The crack in the cave wasn't in the wall. It was in the Air. Harry tilted his head and noticed as the crack vanished and then reappeared. Slowly Harry moved to his right and observed the hairline crack in his reality.

Harry knew he had seen this before.

It was just like when he peered through the opening of his Invisibility Cloak at its hidden objects. There was some kind of invisibility charm hiding a structure; only part of it was visible. Harry Quickly stepped back, and sought out dry dirt and pebbles. Gathering a handful, Harry started to throw rocks at the hairline fractures he could make out.

Whatever it was, it wasn't a cloth like material, Harrys rocks seemed to disappear and then reappear as they passed through the upward hidden structures. In frustration Harry threw a handful of sand and rocks.

One pebble landed midair and floated over the swirling waters below. Puzzled for a split moment before Harry started to grasp the object, Harry threw more pebbles landing them closer to the single floating pebble.

Harry started to slowly create a path that lead to the left, the origin of the path seemingly starting from over the swirling pool of water. Picking up a handful of pebbles, and a large cane of wood from the wreckage Harry started to prod at the hidden plank that lead above the waterfall. Throwing the wood, Harry was relieved to see it floated on the invisible structure.

Testing his luck Harry prodded a sneaker at the revealed floor.

It did not feel sturdy one bit.

But, Harry had few options.

Grabbing more pebbles Harry peppered his path as much as possible before picking up the plank and using it to guide him like a blind man. The unease Harry felt as he took his first steps over nothing left a queasy feeling in his stomach.

There appeared to be an invisible hand rail, it felt rusted as well, but Harry clung to it feverishly.

Harrys stick slid back and forth until it passed through empty space and dipped. Harry found the edges of the invisible cat walk and guided himself forward.

His Sweeps with the wood continued until all sides lead to nothing, reaching the edge of the catwalk. Half the radius of the whirlpools center. The fact that at its center, was a deep blackness, did nothing to settle Harry.

Suddenly, Harry felt a Jolt of adrenaline as the catwalk shook. Harry grasped at its rail and could feel the metal bend under his weight.

The slow upward motion alarmed Harry more than anything else, as the platform elevated higher and higher of its own accord. As it did so, the platform lost its invisibility and Harry could make out the clearly rusted uncomfortably thin footpath he had traveled. Thin interweaving rebar interlaced tightly to make a footpath that looked woven.

The glinting structure was in actuality a maze of steel and wire scaffolding. It had clearly seen better days, as the structure was barely forming something one might call purposeful. Harry thought it might have once been the remains of a service elevator, but without all the glitz and glamour of having walls, doors, or even the luxury of safety.

Harry passed by his floating Lumos and could see an opening into the invisibility approaching, the hole seemed designed to fit the footpath Harry had found himself on. The upward motion of this platform slowed to a halt as Harry was brought into what he could only describe as an abandoned train station.

It was no Kings Cross, but the platforms, and carriages gave away the original purpose.

This one looked like it had tried to modernize with the times, there were plastic molded seats, a clearly 60's esthetic. A sticker of a Technicolor flower stuck to the mutedly colorful seats.

On one side of the tracks a complete train, with what appeared to be the words Rápida Rey Embossed into the side.

Harry was Fairly sure that the words were Spanish, but he couldn't understand why.

On the other side of the platform, the Pronta Princesa was Airborne.

The Wreck below was the lost Cabins of this Train as it had collapsed into the floor below. The remains of the Pronta Princesa were wedged in the hole in the tracks. It served now as a glorified plug.

Was he in some Kings Cross variant? Was he in Spain?

These questions did not soothe Harry as he meandered off the platform. The building was abandoned and the windows outside boarded up. The roof however was built with skylights and though no one had come to clean the now dusted over windows in what could be decades, they still emanated enough glow from the outside to let Harry know he was at least on the surface of an apparently bright and sunny world now.

The muted light though was sparse at best. Harry Attempted to create a Lumos Ball in his hand. As soon as Harry mentally uttered the last syllables of the basic spell, he found himself collapsing face first into the ground.

His Knees curled upward instinctively as he went fetal and his chest protested in pain. Harry closed his eyes to the world as he tucked his chin into the crook of his elbows.

Harry Saw White, yellow, and Red as he realized the true scope of the pain he had created for himself.

Gasping and coughing Harry felt his world ease into a dull throb as the initial spike of pain receded.

But the world was still blaringly, painfully white to his eyes.

Harry realized as he opened his eyes that the Lumos had worked, there anchored to the palm of his hand was a pin prick of light brighter than any of his past Lumoses before.

Reflexively Harry tilted his palm forward.

It was a testament to the strength of the spell that Harry could see the light of the Lumos glow through the back of his hand. Dark structures of his bones shadowed the sub surface scattered rays of light, revealing his skeletal carpels.

'What is wrong with me?' Harry wondered as he realized his magic was acting strange. He dared not try anything stronger. He was short on information, and saturated with mysteries.

All in the span of what felt like an hour if not less.

Harry stood and felt the scratches of the back of his throat. Reflexively Harry Coughed.

Pausing, Harry tried to clear his throat.

Harry yelled non distinct words into the darkness of the foreign platform.

Silence

Harry wondered if he was silenced by magic, so He grasped at his trusty wooden stick and with a running swing like a Batter during a baseball Game Harry struck the metal frame of the Pronta Princessa.

He saw the metal explode in a cacophony of dust and it visibly vibrated and screeched in distress at Harry's abuse, but Harry Heard nothing.

Frustrated Harry swung again, and again.

Harry was alone, lost, confused, cold, wet, magicless, and now Deaf.

Was it permanent, was it magic, was he damaged goods.

Harry didn't hear his own frustrated yells as he pounded at the decades old train, but he felt his throat go Raw from his rage.

Each dent seemed to comfort him, despite the unsatisfactory silence it presented him.

Falling to his knees eventually, Harry felt more than heard the surprisingly sturdy piece of wood clatter to his side.

Harry wanted to wallow in his misery, but Harry knew he had to keep pushing on. Maybe for heroism, or because it was expected of him, but Harry didn't honestly didn't care about that; Harry had enough and he would spitefully push on for no other reason than he wanted to stick it to whatever bastard had done this to him.

Gathering his belongings and his stick, Harry faced his glowing hand forward like a flash light and shone it into the darkness. There seemed to be doorways, into shed like rooms on the platforms. He needed to find _stuff_, anything that could be useful.

His list of needs included:

* A wand

* Lighter

* Matches

* Water(non salted)

* Some food.

* Dry clothes.

Harry took the strap that he had stuffed into his pocket from earlier and tied it around the staff, using what was left of the duct tape to help create a smooth secure handle. The Strap served as something he could wrap firmly around his wrist so he was bound to the stick should the need arise. Harry was conscious enough to realize just because he was alone now did not mean he could not use a weapon for later.

Making his way toward the small shed Harry used the long end of his walking stick to push the door open, while shining his light inside.

Empty

Checking the next three revealed more of the same.

The fifth shed near the far wall was different. The naked walls gave way to the distressed floor leading down into the gaping whirlpool below. To the right of the hole, caught on a plank of shattered wood a red duffel bag lay, its contents one bulbous black garbage bag, strapped with duct tape. The outer red duffel was tattered, and Harry could see the remains of the strap that now clung to his stick, firmly attached to the remains of the bag.

The duct tape and the black garbage bag securing the contents from escaping down into the maw of the watery pool.

Harry was starting to create a timeline in his head. Harry had been here. He did not know when but he had been here.

Somehow he had fallen into the hole, or he had created it. The bag had been secured to his leg. And had gotten caught on this pole, or was it placed there? The contents were protected from falling; someone had wanted Harry to find this bag, and whatever was inside.

Harry had been prepped for this station.

Would he be playing into a trap if he reached for the bag? Did he dare trust his would be kidnapper.

This was not the style of his normal enemies. While yes Voldemort tended to like to torment Harry, he had shown himself to be more direct and ruthless now. There were too many opportunities for Harry to die here, and even Voldemort wouldn't leave Harry to die in a whirlpool. He wasn't that Camp.

Resolving himself towards curiosity, Harry carefully forked his walking stick into the remains of the duffel across from him. Securing the bag at one end, Harry tenderly raised the bag and moved it towards himself.

Something Shiny and metallic slid out of a crevice, but Harry gave it no mind as it fell into the blackness. Worrying more about the contents of the duffel Harry worked himself backwards and onto the more secure platform.

Sitting himself down on one of the old dusty plastic molded chairs, Harry started in on the bag.

Careful to try to preserve as much duct tape as possible as it had proven useful Harry wound what he could around his stick.

His first treasure, under the duct tape was a multitool.

Inspecting, it Harry noticed the usual screwdriver sets, but also noticed a strange charcoal like metal. Wondering Harry rubbed the charcoal like portion against a stone.

Sparks flew.

He had flint. That was good.

Folding the flint back, Harry pulled out the scissor like attachment and with a more methodical approach cut carefully into the bag.

The bag was a treasure trove.

A Blanket, bottled water, zip lock bags containing crackers and berries. A flashlight with batteries and… a gun.

It was a small service pistol. Harry had rarely seen a gun in his life, let alone held one. Looking deeper into the bag, Harry found what appeared to be Ammo, small metal slugs and cylinders. A good hundred or more bullets glared back at him, some neatly organized into square boxes, some haphazardly strewn about the pack.

This was the gun of a policeman. Though normally London officers didn't carry, there were a few he had seen. Most notably when Uncle Vernon had tried to indicate that the police officers he saw nearby were there to take Harry away.

The black and matte pistol hung ominously in the bag securing its own gravitas.

Harry gingerly inspected the gun.

A molded grip read Glock. The G enlarged to surround the remainder of the word. There were a few levers and buttons on the gun, Harry wasn't sure which did what, other than the trigger, even that had a weird secondary trigger on it.

Setting the gun pointedly aside, specifically pointed in the opposite direction of Harry, he decided to continue on.

Inside, the last wonder was a backpack. Inside were documents. A UK driver's license, a plane ticket to Australia, someplace called Perth, a citation for parking illegally in a location in North Hampshire…

Opening the passport, Harry found his face, though more grumpy than normal, his distinctive lightning scar glared back at him. His name as well was present. Harry had never owned a passport in his life, but it certainly felt real. Looking through the pages, Harry found a few notable stamps.

Entrada

September 15 1996

Bolivia WI

Harry was in school then and he had certainly never traveled to South America. Other stamps showed Australia, and the Philippines of all places.

Who would go to such lengths to make a fake passport for him?

Deciding on a snack break as he went through his goodies.

Harry munched on the dry crackers and berries. He wanted to save his water since he didn't know how long it would last. Harry opened every compartment of the backpack.

Hidden, in the front pouch sat a note, wrapped around a vial.

Find Jamie Weston. You have 1 week.

The scribbles were elegant and messy at the same time.

This was the first communication he had with anyone.

Did he want to listen to the note? The bag had provided necessities, whoever had crafted it had given Harry many of the things he needed. Did that mean they were on his side? And who was this Weston fellow. Harry had never heard of him. Was he a wizard, muggle, deatheater, was he the kidnapper.

Why a week? How was he even supposed to find him? Harry didn't even know where he was.

Harry gently uncorked the vial, and looked inside.

A silvery mist lingered within. Confused Harry peered and saw a wispy pair of lips talking.

This was a vial of memories.

He needed to find a pensieve.

Harry gathered his materials and started to pack his items away, leaving the gun for last.

Harry took a moment to grasp the weapon, and pointed it at the far end of the platform. Pulling the trigger gently, nothing happened

Finding a set of levers beside his thumb Harry pressed one letting the chamber slide out the bottom of the grip.

Looking down, all that was inside was a single note.

"Don't kill yourself idiot"

Harry bristled at the insult.

On the back of the paper was a shoddy drawing of a gun with the words "safety", "clip release", "bang bang trigger" diagramming the gun.

Also a quick sketch showing Harry to pull the slide back.

Harry did so and saw a second note.

"Before loading, point away from yourself and pull trigger. Always!"

Following the instructions, Harry repeated the process. Harry thought the notes were trying to teach him how to load and check a gun. Insultingly, but at least teaching him something useful.

Seeing the Gun was Empty, Harry carefully loaded a single bullet into the cartridge. Placed the cartridge back into the gun and pointed at Pronta Princessa.

The kickback almost caused Harry to drop the gun, but Harry held firm. He missed the Princessa and hit the back window shattering the glass. Light streamed in from what appeared to be a blue sky.

Harry assumed it was loud but still heard nothing.

Harry checked the gun again, and saw the chamber was empty

He needed practice but did he have time to stick around here. He had not properly checked out the area. He still did not know what was outside the building even. And he was already firing bullets, 'stupid'.

Harry quickly loaded the clip, 10 bullets, and chambered the gun. Harry was sure anyone with more experience with a gun would be cringing at his choice to employ such a weapon without even learning how to use it properly first, but Harry remembered he could possibly still be in danger.

His right hand was still lit as he grasped at the barrel, but enough of the light reflected forward to still serve as a light. Harry put on the backpack, ran his arm into the make shift strap of his now multipurpose stick and cautiously made his way to the back wall.

There was a red door under what looked like an exit sign. In Spanish, but what wasn't here.

Harry carefully made his way over. Staying utterly silent, Harry wanted to listen for activity but knew that instinct was out.

Checking the handle, Harry slowly turned the grip. It gratingly turned under Harry's touch.

Harry opened the door a crack but there was too much light outside for Harry to see. Harry let the door sway open, and peaked.

Harry paused, and then relaxed in confusion. The gun pointing low as he stepped into the door frame.

Harry was in the middle of a sea of water.

White capped mountains in the distance framed this majestic mirrored surface.

The sky and the ground were almost as one, and with a flick of his shoulder Harry released his staff as he grasped it. Realizing he was still carrying his handgun, Harry tried to figure out where to store it on his person. He remembered movies where people stored their guns in their pant waist but years of Moody yelling about severed buns made Harry wonder if the rule applied to guns as well. Deciding to remove the chamber and dislodge the bullet in the cavity Harry clicked the trigger empty and stuck the unloaded gun in his pants pocket, while storing the magazine in his other pocket.

Harry took his stick with both hands and gently prodded at the surface of the water.

It was shallow.

Extremely shallow.

An inch or two at most.

The ground underneath was filled with the same clay mixture. Looking behind him, Harry saw an empty doorway into nothing.

A single door stood open into the darkness, and then nothing but mirrored sky for as far as his eyes could see. Harry was glad he didn't close the door as he wasn't sure if he would be able to find the entrance again.

Where ever he was, it was heavily warded to not be found.

Harry stepped back into the doorway, wondering where he was. Harry felt the sun beat down on him and knew he was not in London. It was scorching hot out right now. Could the documents in his back pack right now be genuine? Did someone memory charm him.

Was he in Australia or some other foreign locale?

What was with the abandoned train station, in the middle of a pond with aspirations of becoming an ocean?

Making his way through the door and then running to the other side of the train station, Harry found a second door. Harry opened it, and found a footpath, leading down to a sandy beach again surrounded by the mirrored sky.

Harry felt the first pangs of success. This was some form of secret keeper location, or some other variation of that spell system. The building which he could now see from within the borders of the perimeter held a stone and wood monolith. More Spanish signs decorated the front wall of the building but they were clearly forgotten long ago.

The entire building seemed to be situated over some kind of Dirt Island in the middle of this mini sea.

Cactus's and weeds grew out of the ground surrounding a once elegant cobblestone pathway. Booths lined the path that lead to a giant open Pit.

Charred wood and a powder bowl lay in wait.

Harry stared at the pit for a second in confusion until he remembered he had seen something like this.

It was a public Floo station.

Desperately checking the pot Harry crowed in victory as he found the precious powder.

All he needed now was to find things to burn start a fire, and go home.

Harry rushed back to the train station and started to gather as much wood and tinder as he could. He was going to go somewhere familiar. Harry weighed his choices as he gathered the materials together.

Hogwarts was the obvious choice, but did he want to go somewhere so public. There were more than a few watching eyes there, and should one of them spot him, would he give away some unknown advantage.

Harry could go to the Burrow, but would the Weasley's be there. They were all housed at the Citadel over the summer for a reason.

Again the Citadel was another option, but it was public as well.

The second problem was those were his expected moves. Whoever had placed him here had left him too many goodies. He was getting complacent with the trinkets he had. It was not too much of a leap to assume they would want him to take the floo somewhere well-known and protected. For what purpose, he was still unsure, but his paranoia would make Moody joyous.

Harry had to think critically. He needed to go somewhere unexpected but close enough to resources he could use.

Somewhere he could blend in and …

The shop.

Fred and George had asked Dumbledore to create access during Christmas.

That was at least a month ago if not more, and the twins could be trusted. Not with most things, but with what mattered, definitely. The shop would at least bring him back to London, and from there he could access most of his resources.

Harry unloaded the fresh tinder onto the fire pit and paused.

He was in no condition for surprises.

The shop was the best choice, but Harry had to be cautious.

He needed to prepare.

Harry feeling relatively secure in the idea that no one was around stripped out of his pants and black shirt, deciding as well to remove the white t-shirt underneath. Harry gathered his blanket from his backpack and covered his waste. No need to let any observers that were hidden, see him in his skivvies.

He lay the still damp clothes out on rocks and boulders and let the sun dry them out. He was sad to say, his much coveted ab, was missing. He felt like he was in slightly less fit condition than before his training.

Harry rechecked his supplies, and also checked his pockets.

He took out the currency he had found earlier. He had close to 200 in American currency, a 50 pound note and about 5 Galleons of gold, and a silverish American coin. Flipping over the face of whoever was inscribed on the coin who wasn't the Queen, Harry saw an eagle with the words Quarter Dollar embossed into the perimeter. Harry stuck his currency into his not so empty wallet, but left the coins in his front pockets for quick access.

Deciding to let his clothes dry, Harry started to gather Rocks of various sizes and placed them on the wooden stands. He was going to do some target practice. In his underwear with a towel wrapped around his waist, but Harry felt that was beside the point.

Harry quickly learned shooting was a lot harder than it looked and that he would need to get relatively close to hit something. About half his firing distance with magic. Harry wasn't sure if he was a lousy shot, or if the gun was inaccurate, but Harry was relatively confident with the weapon now. Harry had wasted a good 40 or so bullets in his practice, and his hand started to ache from the recoil but Harry was confident now that at least he was a minor threat to anyone who intended him harm.

Harry waited out his clothes by meandering the border of the hidden location and the train station. Harry could almost feel the magic of the wards as he ran his hand along the border. Exploring and scavenging, Harry didn't find anything else of significant use, but knew that whatever this place had been was magical, and well used at one point.

When his clothes were dried, he redressed and started the final tests.

He needed to know.

Harry didn't know when but his hand had darkened at some point. The Lumos extinguished. Harry tested the Lumos once more.

The same ache, but Harry fought the pain and tried to stay steady.

Gritting his teeth Harry cried out again for another Lumos.

The pain was more severe, and the world became hazy.

Harry's eyes watered.

If the severity of the pain meant anything he should not plan to do multiple feats of magic at once.

He could push through the first wave of pain, but the second would cripple him in a fight.

He needed to see one more thing.

Waiting until this set of pain subsided; Harry focused, and pointed his hand at one of his target rocks.

Stupefy

The pain returned, as a bolt of red scorched the rock fiercely.

He did not experience any more pain than before.

He could perform more magic intensive spells without greater cost at least. It seemed to be just activating his magic that caused him pain.

Harry took his next opportunity to cast a painful disillusionment charm on himself.

The same variant Dumbledore had taught him during their last training session together.

It worked similarly to a notice me not charm, except it also warped light around the spelled individual so their shadows would not be noticed. The only hints of his existence were the footprints he left behind.

Harry was relatively sure this spell would last at least half an hour.

Looking back at the abandoned train station, Harry did one last visual inspection. Harry had scavenged the trains and the remainder of the derelict station as much as possible while he waited, and there did not appear to be anything else of value there. Papers were faded, signs were removed, and even the other train, while more intact had been stripped of parts. There was no way it would operate let alone offer shelter from the elements.

The light was growing dark and Harry could see the sun setting over the horizon.

Now was the time to act. Harry made sure to wrap his face in his now dry white t shirt, as a make shift mask. Should he be spotted, at least no one would see his scar or his face. All that and under the invisibility charm, Harry felt he was as protected as he could be.

Chambering his cartridge, Harry readied the gun, while taking the flint and striking at it.

Sparks fell, and Harry used the remains of the plastic duffel bag to start the fire. Tossing that into a patch of dried grass Harry had collected, he placed the now flaming composite onto the wood and waited for a good set of flames to rise.

All those hours learning to light the fireplace at Grimmauld place without magic paid off as a roaring flame began.

Harry gathered the floo powder and threw it at the flames.

They flickered for a moment before a brilliant green flame greeted Harry.

The fuel of the wood, seemed to be going fast, Harry wasn't sure if he had minutes and the wind was negatively impacting the now green flames. Feeling the mute ticking clock tick on gravely Harry leapt into the flame quickly and called out for "Fred and George Weasleys shop, Diagon Alley."

At least he hoped so since he couldn't even hear his own voice.

Harry felt the rush and spinning motions whirl around him and Harry fought to keep both hands on his gun. Harry could feel the wooden stick fixed to his backpack whirl with him and he hoped it would not catch on anything.

Harry felt the dizzying rush stop as he exited into a stone and steel chamber.

There was a lone wizard standing there, his wand raised, as he scanned the platform, his uniform that of someone in security.

Harry paused but then realized the man was still waiting for him to exit, he could not see him still.

Harry quickly moved away from the flames, and stood behind the man. He stared confusedly at the green flames as they receded, then alarm found his face. He was mouthing out spells, but Harry grasped the man's wrist at the moment he started to enunciate, and then shoved the gun into the side of his neck.

This man clearly knew he was in danger as he went silent.

Harry tried his best to alter his voice into a gruffer tone and ordered the man to "drop the wand."

The Man flinched at the voice but seemed confused.

Looking around Harry noticed he was seeing more Spanish text everywhere.

He was not in Britain, and this man did not understand him.

Harry firmly pushed the gun into the man and plucked the wand out of his hand, with minimal resistance.

Harry felt… right as sparks shot out of the wand at his touch.

More on instinct than anything else, Harry tapped the man on the head and willed him asleep.

The man collapsed as a red stupefy wave washed over him.

Harry felt no pain. He could still do magic with wands.

As he did so though, Harry noticed the wand he held released smoke.

Not the care free, playful wisps of smoke a wand would usually unleash. A charring smoldering smoke engulfed the core of the focus. Harry could feel heat emanate out of it, and Harry threw the wand aside.

It fractured in two before it even hit the ground.

Harry felt bad for the man, remembering the shocked pain of his own wands destruction, but decided he could not afford to leave any evidence. Grasping the wand remains gingerly; Harry pocketed them, and made his way to the exit. A pair of steel doors revealed a staircase leading upwards. Harry noticed there was a throbbing red light flashing beside what appeared to be speakers.

It took a moment for Harry to realize there was an alarm going off.

For all intents and purposes, silently from Harry's perspective.

Feeling more than seeing that his invisibility charm was still in effect, Harry bolted up the stairs nearly bumping into two security guards who were dashing toward the floo chamber.

Their wands were at the ready.

Harry contemplated stealing their wands but decided he shouldn't be greedy, and dashed out while he could.

More security guards chased down the hallway Harry had found himself in, but Harry went unnoticed by them as he slid against the wall. Seeing an exit, Harry saw turn styles and made a dash.

Harry tried to jump over the turnstile but some form of shield rebuffed him.

Harry saw the area around him become red again as he must have set off another alarm.

Looking down, Harry realized he needed to pay as a red dome light flashed beside a coin slot warningly.

The slot was too thin for a Galleon, seeing the security guards shadows dash up the stairs toward him, Harry found the quarter in his pocket. Sticking it in, Harry saw an old green shell light up on the turnstile as he pushed through.

Harry found himself on some kind of subway system, there appeared to be muggles waiting for their train, all of them had Latin features.

Harry didn't know where he was but decided to get as far away from security as he could.

Knowing that his disillusionment might give way at any moment, Harry found the stair case and dashed upwards away instead of onto the next train. Outdoors was better; he was tired of being confined in tiny spaces.

Harry dashed into the crowds and did not stop until he put a few blocks distance between himself and the security.

He was in some kind of City block. Buildings were a mix of cheap stucco, and elegant architecture. The entire area felt like he was in a muggle version of Knockturn alley. Harry wasn't sure where he was but he had found his way into a crowded shopping district, clothes smells, lights chattered around him.

Harry did not honestly care and took in few of the sights, but did notice the trees around him were green and lush. Too soon for winter weather. It was also night; the sun must have set quite a while ago meaning he must have gone somewhat easterly.

Finding an alleyway, Harry removed his white shirt and stuffed it into his back pack. Concealing his gun in his waist despite his knowledge that it was both loaded and probably very stupid Harry tried to make himself as inconspicuous as he possibly could as he stepped back into the crowds.

Harry hoped he looked like a tourist, but for all he knew he looked like a vagrant. Exactly the sort of person Aunt Petunia declared he would become. Gun, grime, and all.

Harry took a moment to stare into the crowds. The sun was just beginning to set when he had left the train station so wherever he was was still relatively close to where he had begun. There was a very Latin vibe in the air, and a party atmosphere presented itself to Harry. This was the atmosphere of a tourist destination.

Looking around for landmarks, Harry struggled as most of the buildings blocked the skyline. Mostly stone and brick, Harry was sure he was in some kind of less polished section of the city, which this definitely was.

Harry continued walking, with the crowds, there were a few people with cameras around and Harry was sure they were tourists. Harry tried to keep pace with a family of dark haired tourists while looking properly dazzled by the sights. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact that he had no idea where he was. Though in hindsight what tourist ever did?

Harry wished he could hear his surroundings but whatever had happened to his hearing wasn't going away. Judging by how most people seemed to be yelling close to their friend's ears, Harry wasn't sure if he would like the apparent cacophony.

Harry felt his foot brush up against a newspaper, looking down Harry decided to see what he could discern from it.

The O Globo seemed to show pictures of women in labor and the word Brazil popped out a few times. Harry was on the other side of the world. Excitement and dread filled him. He had always dreamed of traveling and under other circumstances this would be exciting, but Harry had to be careful.

There were definite Spanish texts on the page, and though Harry didn't speak Spanish, a few words stood out to him as similar to English. The date for one was his second point of contention.

30 de octubre…1996

Harry reeled again. Making a mad dash to the closest stand which displayed papers, they all showed the same thing. October 30th 1996.

That was last year. That was … before Halloween.

Thousands of thoughts coalesced in Harry's Head at once. Until one troubling one took prominence.

Running, Harry crisscrossed between crowds and cars. Harry felt the shoves as people shoved him back but he had to move.

Somewhere secure

Harry looked around him and saw the time was 9:45. Harry wasn't sure what the time zone difference was but he was fairly sure he knew he had minutes.

Somewhere private

Harry couldn't be around muggles, if they found him, or witnessed what was going to happen, Harry didn't even want to think about the consequences.

Somewhere safe

Finding a dark empty alleyway with two entrances, Harry decided this was his best choice. Harry applied a notice me not charms on one end as his chest exploded in pain.

Harry could feel something else on the horizon.

It was starting

Harry, Dashed to the center of the alley fighting through the pain, Harry cast the second Notice me not on the other entrance way.

While his head reeled, and his heart felt like he had stuck it into a blender, Harry realized he needed to protect his belongings. Sticking his Bag and Gun behind a pile of debris, Harry hoped for the best as he felt himself start to succumb.

Realizing all throughout this, his voice would still travel despite the alley ways occlusion, Harry did what he knew he had to.

Harry applied a Silencio on himself.

Harry fell unconscious, a mix of searing pain and shock the cause, as Ritual Magic's engulfed him. A pool of blood slowly coalesced flowed from his forehead.

Twice

In the UK, a secret Garden housed Luna Lovegood as she was thrown aside as Harry was engulfed in magic at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and wizardry. And now here, alone, an ocean away, in an empty alleyway of Rio De Janero, Harry fell victim to this timed event, surrounded by tourists who wondered where all the black feathers were coming from.

* * *

AN: I made a few edits myself, but my Beta needs some more time to work on the chapter so expect a more polished update when they have finished their daunting task. Interested to hear what your reactions are to this chapter.


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